There is a special kind of quiet in waking up before the birds start chirping. A stillness. My cat knows it’s too early for me to let him out, and he nestles into my lap. The leaves outside are motionless. Even the air feels still, though not stale.

It reminds me of being at a cottage in Ontario. I can imagine the glass-smooth reflection of the water, the quiet of an open, still space. The crispness of the morning air.

It’s like my mind is taking still photographs, witnessing frame after frame, rather than a continuity of time. The silence is the space between the shots.

Silence is the space in between. In between the night and morning. In between the sound of my fingers typing letters. In between sounds of any kind. Silence is a comfortable solitude. Early morning silence is not lonely, it’s comfortable. Silence keeps me company.

There is no better way to start the day, than with early morning silence.